The Light That We Get Here
by chimere
Summary: That's what you get for watching "Daybreak" too many times. Why Bill, stubbornly believing himself to be broken, still doesn't fall, and sees the light of the new day from the hilltop. Spoilers for "Hero" and "Daybreak, Part 2".


Disclaimer: everything in Battlestar Galactica (re-imagined series) belongs to Ronald D. Moore, David Eick and the Sci Fi Channel, I'm just borrowing some of it. Not making any money. Don't sue.

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**The Light That We Get Here**

_By chim__è_re

He lets go of her hand, because he knows that if he doesn't do it right now, he'll cling to it until the Raptor, lacking guidance, crashes to the ground. No matter that that's exactly what he wants to happen. He can't let it end this way.

He lands the bird safely, and knows that he has just made his final landing. He will never take ship again, in air or on water. This is his final port.

Then he doesn't know anything any more, staring at the controls like he's never seen them before in his life. He cannot move. It's a very long time before looks up again, looks to his left, has his heart broken again, gets to his feet wearily, picks his wife up even more carefully than when carrying her into this Raptor. This is the last time he'll ever carry her, so he has to take extra care.

The hilltop is a good place. The view is almost unbelievable after four years of metal bulkheads and weak pinpricks of the stars in the blackness of space. "You should see it," he whispers to the still figure in his arms, clutches her tightly and falls to his knees.

He doesn't really get to his feet again, he thinks. He collects the stones, cuts two branches for the grave marker, arranges her carefully and piles the stones to cover her. But he is still on his knees and will never get up again. Too many blows rained on William Adama - a life too long and filled with too much loss - this last one has broken him beyond repair.

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Laura Roslin sits and watches Bill Adama, her gaze as fiery as her hair as she takes in how beaten and broken he is. She sighs almost imperceptibly and looks a little disappointed, but more gentle.

"It won't kill you, you know," she says.

He can make no answer. He has never been good at carrying guilt, and he hates and admires her for making him do that, from the fall of the Colonies to this moment. When he just wants to pay the penance for his mistakes and thereby set them down from his shoulders, she doesn't let him. She believes that he must and will carry more.

"You're more than that, Admiral Adama. No matter how much you like to beat yourself up about things, whether or not they're your fault. That medal is not heavy enough to bring you to your knees."

_He looks at her, angry at her cutting words. He knows she knows that he _wants _to fall under this weight. And still she won't let him. _

_"It's amazing how much time can heal. This Fleet is living testament to that, if nothing else." _

He didn't want to listen to her then. Doesn't want to now, either, but can't help it.

Time.

Things will take time now. Time they never had during these four years of desperate flight and fight. Time that was stolen from them when the worlds ended, and that has now been given back, but only to him. He will have to live it for both of them.

It will take time to build the cabin, because he is alone and doesn't have many tools. It will take time to read (or rather, re-read) the books he has stacked in the Raptor and that will be stacked on the shelves of the cabin, because he will read them aloud each night, to himself and to her. It will take time to get used to this - living on a planet, breathing fresh air and walking on solid ground, living without her and yet always together with her in his mind. But he will get used to it, although he'll never miss her one bit less for that.

It will take time, but not forever, before he'll see her on the other side. The atheist in him still isn't convinced of that, but it doesn't matter. He's been wrong before, and many of those times, it was Laura who was right. He can hope that this is one of those times.

Sometimes, it is more than hope. Sometimes it is certain knowledge, solid and immovable like the conviction in the eyes of the strongest woman hes ever known, sure that he can carry more than he believes himself capable of.

He is smiling slightly as he tells her of the easterly view their cabin will have. His smile widens as he says, "All right, Laura. You win, again. It won't kill me. Doesn't mean I won't come to get you if there's any truth to what the scriptures and priests have been going on about the other side."

Bill gets to his feet, briefly touches one of the stones covering her grave, and goes to find a book to read to her in what light there remains.


End file.
